I think I might be too shy to be fucked in front of a mirror, though I guess there’s only one way to find out.
mirror
Thank you everyone for your supportive words. Sir has arrived safely and is settling in. The time difference is already palpable and obnoxious, and I’m starting to learn to adjust.
I haven’t been sleeping brilliantly, but I am hoping this changes as well. I’ve sort of chugged through the past few days in a haze of relative exhaustion. So here’s the other photo of us on the most comfortable bed ever for some inspiration.
I’d probably die a thousand times over if I had to look at myself getting eaten out which is why I kind of really want to do it sometime except not at all except maybe sure.
Sweetheart’s vocabulary word that day was “dram.” And Daddy knows sweetheart’s a visual leaner.
Mirror, mirror, on the floor – Who is the neediest little whore?”
Meeee.
Playdate with Popcorn, Part Six
At one point, when I was about to cum, I caught her looking in the mirror over my shoulder.
“Sorry,” she said. “I like to watch myself when I do stuff. It’s kind of my thing.”
That explained, of course, why Penthouse had moved the mirror over when she had come by that afternoon.
A bit later, when I was on top of her and bringing her close, I stole a glance. Then a bit of a longer look. I saw myself, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, my body against hers. It was hot, I had to admit it. Besides the collar and chain, the kink paraphernalia was absent from my reflection this time around and I found it much easier to look at myself.
Baby steps.
Reblogged via Stumblr
Chained, Part Five
“I kind of want her to flog me,” Popcorn replied. It was certainly unusual, with me on the end of a chain and ballgagged. But, I wanted to try it.
As Popcorn got onto Penthouse’s bed, I rose up to my feet. Adjusting the chain somewhat, I accepted the flogger from Penthouse and sucked in a deep breath. Joking around with Craftsmate aside, I had never flogged anyone seriously before.
When Popcorn squirmed and squeaked, the bottom of her dress rode up slightly, showing just a peek of a pert little rear. I was surprised by how much I wanted to hit it, but I stuck to her legs and thighs, which she seemed perfectly happy with.
Suddenly, Penthouse grabbed his mirror and moved it over in front of the bed so we could see ourselves.
I froze. Ballgagged, collared, chained, holding a flogger. It was all too much. I squeezed the Taboo buzzer and shut my eyes tight. I don’t know exactly what about it bothered me, but it was something about how real everything became when I looked in the mirror. Seeing myself like that, I was almost scared. Coming to terms with what I’m into has been hard enough, but having to see it so clearly made me squeeze the buzzer without hesitation.
“Good girl,” Penthouse reassured as he put the mirror back. Popcorn joined in the coos. “Very good girl, thank you for letting us know.”
Once the mirror was gone, I felt myself smile around the ballgag as I continued to hit Popcorn with the flogger. Penthouse met my gaze and we exchanged smirks as I delivered the last few blows, gauging Popcorn’s reactions and not wanting to push it.
“You could’ve done more,” Popcorn said as she got off of the bed, rubbing her thighs. “That felt really good.”
I know I could have. Having her, squirming and moaning, while I was still gagged and chained, with Penthouse watching was all indescribably hot. But, I was still treading in new waters. And, as ironic as it sounds for the situation I was in, I was approaching it with some caution.
“Daddy, I’m not fighting you. I’m just high-fiving you.”
What if she just gave you everything? If she allowed you inside of her in a way in which the metaphor is even stronger than the physical manifestation. If she just showed you every point of fragility, every joint worn weak, every bone turned brittle.
It’s often hard to be bare, even though we’re born it. We deviate from so many of our initial notions in an attempt at maturity, such as demanding care with such unabashed fervor that it seems to be nurtured is an essential part of being human. Yet, vulnerability will be difficult for her. To become oneself seemed to mean to build up walls not solely to keep invasion out but to deter those sincerest, most intimate forms of care as well, all for the sake of some structure to lean upon.
But, what if she could break down some of those walls? And she followed your lead, arms out, palms wide, fingers trembling with an almost rudimentary trepidation.
There’s a certain way you do your makeup when you’re aware that you are simply applying it to have it disarrayed. There’s a deliberateness to the lipstick that will later crest the curve of your cheek, the mascara that will later run lines down your face. You realize that things must first be built in order for them to be destroyed.